Self-awareness
by notsodelicious
Summary: Harry Hart discovers that love hurts, and that it's okay. In short, he's been stupid, Merlin's frustrated, and realization ensues.


Hi guys! Yes, I know I have a P&P fanfic on the way and I should not get distracted BUT hear me out. I finally watched Kingsman and since Colin Firth as Harry Hart is clearly husband material, I just had to exorcise at least some of my pent-up feelings.

And because Harry Hart is also an absolute emotional wreck, I just thought it'd be fun to start my dabbling into this fandom with a long-ass piece about his feelings for a 'certain female', as Bill would say. (_watch Kill Bill, it's great_)

So here is a smol _*lol*_ one-shot about our dear Harry Hart realizing that love hurts and it's okay.

Also, see at the end for comments. This is slightly AU because I like my fandom alive and not missiled or landmined away, thank you very much Golden Circle.

_xx_

_**Disclaimer**_: all characters except my OCs belong to the original owner of the Kingsman universe.

_**Warnings**_: violence and swearing up ahead, hence why I've M-rated this story. Idk if it's the right choice but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

* * *

Agent Galahad was a man who, once upon a time, had a mighty self-control. He was constantly in control of his every move, his demeanor, and, most importantly, his emotions. He had never let anyone see how much James' death had affected him, had reigned in the rage and sadness until those imbeciles at the bar gave him the opportunity to, as he had put it, "let off a little steam." Never would he have done it otherwise.

Agent Galahad _never_ let off steam, because he usually had no steam to let off to begin with. True, Eggsy was insufferable – most of the time – and even more so since he was a married man. And Merlin loved to tease him, but always knew when enough was enough.* So, really, anger-control wasn't one of his many problems. Arthur had never liked him, and since the feeling was mutual, Galahad couldn't care less about his jibes. No, it had always been James who had been a master at the "tick-off Harry" game; and, in brief moments of self-awareness, Harry Hart realized how much he missed his old friend.

Harry Hart missed him, but agent Galahad was not allowed to miss, mourn or feel loss. That's what he had always told himself, at least. It made loneliness easier. Now the strange thing was that he had never actually felt just how lonely he was until his confession to Eggsy on the plane to end Poppy's drug empire.

But the truth of the matter was that he indeed was incredibly, soul-crushingly, lonely. He had never let anyone in, from the moment when he had abandoned his dream of becoming a lepidopterist to join the army. Kingsman did not allow weaknesses, and love, he had always thought, was certainly that. Family meant that he'd have something to lose, besides his life. A loss that would hurt him for years, reshape him, _change_ him.

Harry Hart was afraid of change. Not that he was afraid to love, per se – he loved his friends, Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy.* But he had never been in love.

Before her, that is. And it felt horrible. As if, every time she went on a mission without him as backup, his heart would break, his mind reeling at the thoughts of all the dangers awaiting her past her flat's door.

But when he went on missions with her, it was even more awful. Yes, then he could protect her – but since she kicked ass, forgive the expression, very well herself, that was seldom required – but he could not _touch_ her the way he wanted to. He could never draw her flush against him, or kiss her, or even just _smile_ at her.

Eggsy was completely right, much as it pained him to admit it: he was incorrigibly stuck up. But even a simple smile could give way to hope, and hope could lead to other things – amongst those, the dreaded change – and he just wasn't sure if he was ready for it.

So Harry Hart was very relieved when Eggsy, Merlin and him left the Statesman agency, thinking he could forget her easily if she wasn't always in view.

Well, as Eggsy would say, he was thoroughly fucked from the beginning. Because, since most of the Kingsman agents had been killed by Poppy's missiles, the new head of Kingsman, another of those old, snobbish, finely bred English gentlemen, had very naturally recruited her – _her_, out of all fucking people in the world!

Harry had to own that she was indeed very skilled and extremely intelligent. She had been offered a post either as staff under Merlin's supervision, or as a field agent. She had hesitated, he had noticed, but – _of course_ – had ultimately chosen to become a Kingsman field agent.

And she was even more stunning in a suit than she'd looked in her all-black outfit when he had first met her, which he technically thought to be impossible.

_Pam_. Pamela D'Argenvilliers. A French surname coupled with a rather common first name, and an even more common nickname. Which fit her to a tee, by the way: she was a nerdy little thing, scrunching her nose when he did not do as she told him. Her prescription glasses, huge, made her look somewhat like a lost owl with a heavy tress of ginger hair always propped on her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes were like two swirling pools, which had truly been his safe haven when he had shut himself off during the first few months of his convalescence at the Stateman HQ in Kentucky.

But what Harry had first noticed about her was the way butterflies flocked to her.

Although he no longer saw butterflies everywhere he went, he had not forgotten the way in which they seemed to float around her face. They'd settle down on the brim of her glasses, crowning her head in a burst of colors; or they'd get stuck in her hair, whenever she had it loose.

It was on one of these occasions that Harry had first touched her. He had only wanted to help a small common blue fellow to get out, locked as he was in her flaming locks, without, of course, realizing that there was no common blue at all. He had only felt her hair, and she'd looked at him with a soft smile, asking him which one he'd seen this time. She was a curious woman, and knew very little about butterflies, but had always found them pretty. She'd told him how she used to run after them in the fields, when she was a child, but she was never gentle enough to catch them without harming them, so she'd given up.

He had been so happy then. Harry the lepidopterist could have loved her – and probably did – but Harry the Kingsman agent wasn't so sure he could risk his heart. He had guarded it so zealously against pain, but in his months of vulnerability, she had broken in and made it hers.

So, hers it was.

And as he sat there, in the Kingsman meeting room, ruminating, she sat at the other end of the table. He thanked God that Eggsy was directly on his right, else he would have never been able to refrain from staring at her the whole way through. But precisely because the lad was merciless in his teasing, he refrained.

Eggsy was still a Kingsman, even when married to a Swedish princess. She knew, and so did her parents, and Eggsy's mother. That, in Harry's opinion, was entirely too many people, but since nobody had asked his opinion anyways, well, it was a closed case. After all, the lad had pleaded his cause well, requesting another post, that of Percival – even if Roxy had offered to let him be Lancelot, like his father – and perhaps the new Kingsman head was a little less snob than his predecessors, because he'd allowed it.

So, there they were, the new Kingsman agents, and Harry felt _old_. Old, lonely, and a little out of place. He had regained all his former capabilities, but he would never be the same. The truth was that he did not feel like agent Galahad anymore. Here he sat, in his early fifties, at a table with only two other older than him, and maybe another two around his age.

But no longer was James smirking at him from across the table in that telltale way of his; in his place sat young Roxanne – _Roxy_ (she insisted). And Eggsy was there too, and Merlin, his two constants, the only ones who hadn't changed. And Pam, of course. The others were either youngsters or strangers.

He suppressed a melancholic sigh, wishing with all his might that he could go back to his early years at Kingsman. With Mr. Pickle, his butterfly collection, now smashed into ashes by those damn missiles, and his self-esteem.

Arthur Jr. called off the meeting, to which Harry had paid absolutely no attention, and summoned agents Galahad and Kay to him.

Harry braced himself, knowing this was another mission, possibly undercover, _possibly_ involving passing as a couple.

"Agent Kay, agent Galahad. I have a mission for you two." _Bingo_, Harry thought sarcastically. "Your task is to corner two French arm dealers selling weapons to the highest bidder. Merlin, (he nodded to their tech coordinator) do I understand that there is a gala of sorts happening tomorrow evening here in London?"

"Yes, very posh, very English, and very dangerous. There will be security everywhere. After the virus incident, people are still slightly on edge." He looked towards the two agents, standing tensely across from him, and refrained the urge to facepalm.

He'd seen Eggsy do it, and to be honest, it perfectly conveyed the deep sense of frustration he felt concerning his old friend's fears.

"_So_, you two will stick together _closely_, and pretend to be married. Couples tend to be easier in the presence of other couples, as we've seen during other missions of this kind."

Harry suppressed the urge to ask, _why him?_ There were two or three other agents who'd do the job better. But he would not contradict his friend here in front of the others. And, if he briefly acknowledged the Harry-the-lepidopterist part of him, he was glad to be one on one with Pam again.

He did truly enjoy her company, the only problem being that he fell in love a little bit more every time he talked to her. And that, the dominant Harry-the-Kingsman-agent part of him was very much against. Enough damage was already done to his brain, he needn't risk his heart too.

Out of the meeting room, Pam threw him a smile, saying she looked forward to the mission, and would meet him at 9 p.m. tomorrow evening at the HQ. A married couple using separate cars could draw attention if he was to come pick her up at her flat, but said couple walking out the door of a tailor shop before a posh event would draw nobody' notice.

Since he wanted to speak to Merlin, he simply smiled back and watched her go – momentarily forgetting his no-smiling rule.

"You are an idiot, Harry Hart, if you do not take this opportunity."

Apparently, Merlin appeared to want to talk to _him_ first.

"Honestly, I understand that you've been through hell and back, but loving someone is not a bad thing. You said so much to Eggsy. What's going on?"

Merlin, although patient by nature, was one hundred percent done. He very clearly saw that Pam had it bad, and that Harry had it even worse. The logical conclusion to any human being armed with a functioning brain would be to ask for dinner, make out, end that sexual tension once and for all, but _no_. There stood Harry Hart, smitten for the first time in his life, although no stranger to random hook-ups, and he did not _move_.

It was infuriating.

Harry knew, deep down, that it wasn't simply love that scared him, it was all the consequences of it. Caring for someone was long-term: it could mean marriage, children, and the agent in him very nearly snorted out loud. Him, a _father_? A _husband_? The joke.

He was really well-versed in entertaining ladies, even before Kingsman, during his time at college and in the army, but not at loving them.

It was bad, he knew, but he was only a man, and consoled himself thinking that he had always taken care of his lovers, even if he did not _care_ for them, precisely. But Pam was different: he'd fallen for her over a year ago, and the need, the burning need to have her as his, was still not gone. The thought of giving himself to her was exhilarating, but the idea of opening his heart was downright terrifying.

"I need time, Merlin."

"What for? Watch her go out with someone else? For pity's sake Harry! You _love_ her."

Hearing his torment so strongly spoken of, Harry snapped.

"And who says she loves me in return? I am about fifteen years older than she is, missing an eye, possibly parts of my brain still, and absolutely not ready for anything that dating entails."

Merlin's eyes were round as saucers upon his friend's outburst. _So, there it was_. He wasn't afraid to love at all, only of what it could bring. He saw only the negatives, not the positives.

_We have a wee bit of work to do here my lad_, he thought drily, wondering if he could pull Eggsy from Tilde's side to help him knock some sense into Harry.

"You know, Harry, it may come as a surprise, but not all women think of marriage or children right off the bat. And if it is something Pam wants, then you and her will talk over it once you get fucking going. Because, before that point, your anxiety isn't going to ease itself away. Now, I am no specialist of women, James and you were the two womanizers, but even I can tell she Pam isn't exactly disgusted at the idea of spending an evening on your arm, and possibly somewhere else as well."

It was Harry's turn to open his eyes wide, unaware, as always, that Merlin could read him so well. He stood there, very glad he'd taken off his glasses, with steadily growing surprise as his friend continued his tirade:

"So, I suggest that you think it over before acting like the bloody idiot that you are, and risk losing the only good thing you got out of being shot by Valentine. Pam is patient, but even her won't wait forever. And competition is tough (_stroke the fires of jealousy, add a little sprinkling of fear, and voilà_), so I suggest you do it fast."

He turned to walk away, but whirled around at the last moment, a bewildered Harry staring back at him with his brown eye.

"Ah, and another thing. You both are Kingsman agents, so the fear of loss is natural but since you already love her and would therefore suffer anyways, I suggest you don't even think it, in fact, and end everybody's misery by asking her out. The faster the better."

And with that, Merlin walked away, nearly strutting his way into his tech lab, nearly knocking Eggsy over in his haste. The two exchanged a knowing look, before Eggsy muttered a "if it doesn't fuckin' happen, I'm setting them up" to which Merlin wholeheartedly agreed.

Meanwhile, Harry was still standing in the same spot, not entirely certain of what the hell just happened, but certain that something _did_. And all of a sudden, it clicked.

Merlin was right. _Again_. Just like Eggsy. Bloody hell, it annoyed him.

What was fifteen years? _Nothing_. And what if he lost her? Oh yes, he would suffer, and his heart would break, and regardless of whether or not something happened between them_, this would not change_. Here it was, his thread. Whatever happened, he _loved_ her. If she should survive Kingsman, or if she should not; if they should end up married with children, or just lovers; he would love her through it all.

Tomorrow was his chance to prove it to her, and by God, he would.

***.***

If Harry had thought he could reign in his nervousness as he waited for Pam downstairs at the Kingsman HQ, he was a bloody fool. He was more nervous than he'd ever been before, mostly because he had no idea how to go about declaring himself. What was the right moment? _When_ would it be? Would there even _be_ a moment, between escaping potential death and pretending? What if she rejected him?

Part of him still wished she would, if only because perhaps it would make loving her from a distance easier. The other part said that if she did, he might as well drop everything and exile himself in butterfly country, wherever that was.

As it happened, all nervousness disappeared when the object of his thoughts descended the stairs. In this exact moment, Harry felt like he had been doused in freezing water in an attempt to stifle a wave of heated desire he could hardly repress.

_Good Lord, she was gorgeous. _

Wearing a long black dress with a vintage flair, thigh high split uncovering toned shapely legs, and creamy shoulders exposed, she was quite simply beautiful. As she drew closer, he noticed that her hair was up, arranged in a simple up-do accentuating the curve of her neck and her back. There too, he noticed, his mouth dry, she was exposed.

Fleetingly wondering how her dress even stayed on, he bent down, bowing before her, a small smirk on his lips, before boldly taking up one of hands in his, kissing it softly. She laughed at his antics, and he did not miss the faint blush painted in her cheeks.

As they exited the tailor shop, one underground bullet-train behind, a perfectly normal taxi was waiting for them. Or at least, it looked like a perfectly normal taxi, because it most definitely wasn't. This new Arthur took no chances with his equally renewed agents.

The drive to the venue was quiet, each mentally rehearsing what they already knew of the building's structure. Even if Merlin would be here to help, being prepared invariably meant time-saving, and time could make the difference between life or death.

"Are you nervous?" Pam asked, noticing the slight jostling of his leg.

She put her hand on his knee almost sheepishly. In the dim light, her hair seemed almost toned down, her eyes more grey than blue, high cheekbones shining underneath the red light they had stopped at. She wasn't wearing her own Kingsman glasses, it would have looked too suspicious, hence why Merlin had insisted that they stay close at all times. He could speak to her through her earrings, but the camera feed depended entirely on Harry.

So instead she was donning her usual owl-like glasses, her small frame nestled into the car seat, eyes wide and searching. Harry chuckled, and, knowing she would not take offense, said that she looked like a little Northern saw-whet owl. Pam knew her birds and absolutely loved owls, so she laughed earnestly at his jibe.

The taxi stopped and they exchanged a glance. They had arrived at the venue.

***.***

The two arm titans they had to bust stood in the mix of a large crowd, and Harry wondered how many more criminals were here this evening. Probably quite a lot, criminals either stand together or kill each other off.

They appeared to have landed in the first case scenario in this instance, so annoying one them would have been highly idiotic.

And yet, they did.

It all started when Pam "accidentally" spilled her glass of champagne on said arm titan's wife, who did not appear too happy at the mishap. It could have ended there, but in her efforts to clean off her "accidental" mess-up, Pam expertly stole her hotel key, offering plenty of contrite apologies, asking if she could do anything. The husband was leering at Pam the whole way through, eyeing her décolletage a little too closely for Harry's taste, who drew her into his side possessively.

This little incident provided the two spies with the perfect excuse to abandon their little group. Inconspicuously, they made their way towards the staircase, the hotel key deftly secured in Pam's elegant up-do, hidden behind her hair pin.

Harry was impressed with the resourcefulness of a woman's gala outfit.

As Harry would later say, it all went tits-up because of a fountain pen. The irony.

The arm dealer himself went up to his suite in search of his forgotten and beloved fountain pen, a predicament which Harry wholeheartedly empathized with in normal situations, but absolutely despised at present. This idiot came bursting through the door of the suite, looking for a pen, and finding two spies instead, and drew the natural conclusion that it was probably best not to let them escape, fountain pen be damned.

A natural conclusion, one might say, but which very nearly caused Pam's untimely death. And that, Harry did not despise; he _reviled_. When he heard a gunshot followed by a grunt beside him, processing that he had not been shot, then processing the fact that _someone_ must have fired said shot – and therefore they were, as Eggsy would say, fucked – took all but two seconds before a hot rage overtook him.

That man had shot _his_ Pam. And that wasn't to be borne.

Merlin, spluttering profanities in his ear, assured him that she had ducked behind the bed but was heavily wounded. Fear replaced anger, and it took all Harry could muster not to sweep Pam up into his arms and dash out.

But he had to take care of that smirking baboon before, and, hoping against hope that security had not been alerted by the gunshot, he did not leave his opponent another chance to fire. Using all his strength, painstakingly rebuilt over the last year and a half, he punched him right in the face.

Fortunately, the arm dealer was no fighter, and lost his balance. Harry knocked the gun out of his hand, and activated his watch to the oh so beloved 'amnesia' setting. Then, purely for good measure, he knocked him half unconscious, and the man quite literally never knew what hit him.

Harry stilled, hearing only the quiet buzzing of the ventilation. No rushing footsteps, no clicking of guns, just silence. Loud music could be heard through the open door, which he rushed to close and lock from the inside.

He froze when he heard Pam let out a moan of pain. Returning to her side, where she had crouched behind the bed, he took in the damage. Her left shoulder was torn, blood oozing. The bullet had shattered the bone, causing splinters to tear through her flesh, and the sight summoned back all his fear.

Gently shushing her, he gathered her limp form in his arms, whispering tender words, begging her to keep her eyes closed and her breathing even. She had to focus on something else than the pain, will it away, and he had to focus on getting his heartbeat to a slower pace.

Quickly, he tore off his suit jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders, securing her right arm to her side. He had to do something to slow down the flow of blood. He ripped the bedsheets, using it to bandage her shoulder tightly. She whimpered against the pressure, and he dropped a kiss to her temple, reassuring her.

"Merlin, get us out of here, she needs medical care!" Harry hissed, praying that his friend had an idea.

"There is a sliding door leading down to the laundry dumpsters at the end of the hallway. Both of you should fit in. If not, send Pam in first, then yourself. And hope there's nobody in the room."

Our two spies were very fortunate that evening, both for the loud music which had prevented security from hearing anything of the fight, and for the existence of that laundry disposal.

***.***

Sitting at Pam's bedside in the infirmary back at the Kingsman HQ, Harry felt exhausted. He'd only allowed Roxy to take over watch to go wash and dress into clean clothes.

She was stable, but had lost a lot of blood, rendering her normally flushed face eerily pale. He checked the fuse line of the transfusion, making sure blood was pumping through, before sitting back down into his chair.

He looked onto her calm face. Eyes closed, eyelids fluttering slightly in her meds-induced sleep, she looked incredibly peaceful. Small smile lines tugged at the corners of her eyes, taking away some of the youthfulness of her face, an indication of her thirty-six years or so of smiling and laughing.

Harry wondered what if felt like to smile so much. He truly hadn't realized what a balm her smile and sing-song laugh was for him, until he had risked never seeing or hearing it again. What else had he taken for granted? It was just as what Merlin had said, "_you both are Kingsman agents, so the fear of loss is natural but since you already love her and would therefore suffer anyways_."

He was suffering, watching her sleep away the pain. It made no difference whether she was his or not, seeing her in pain made him ache. It wasn't a physical pain exactly, but rather a throbbing, heart-sick tug that yanked at his soul.

He could have lost her. Had that gunshot landed any lower, he would have. And that realization not only terrified him, it also served to remind him of how much time he had already lost. He vowed that as soon as she woke up, he would tell her, and to hell with the consequences.

Not loving her now seemed far worse, and the Harry-the-Kingsman-agent part of him had definitely shut up, letting his softer lepidopterist heart yearn for everything he wanted to show her.

She whimpered, a small, pitiful sound which tore at him. Before he even registered what he was doing, he leaned over her, kissing her softly. His hand reached up to caress her cheek, then her forehead, stroking away the lines of pain.

It was a long lingering kiss, but soft, light.

_Like a butterfly's wings_, he thought, kissing her again and again. As she quieted and nestled into his arms, Harry knew that, whatever happened, this woman was his, and he would love her, come what may.

* * *

Somewhere, in the deep end of the Kingsman mansion basement, you can actually hear Merlin say 'fookin' finally.'

Speaking of Merlin and Roxy, I _cannot_ accept the missile/landmine situation, so I just... didn't give a damn? I know you guys will approve: Merlin and Roxy _cannot_ die, period. Hence why it's a slightly AU story, because I like my fandom alive. I love angst, but not that much.

Apologies for spelling mistakes but it's nearly midnight here and I can't be bothered to check just yet. I wrote this in one go, in two and a half hours, without snacks, so I need to publish it.

Please review! It will enable me to see if you guys would like other one-shots like this one in the Kingsman fandom, with this cute OC that is Miss Pam. I hope you enjoyed the ride!

_xx_


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